IN a little house keep I pictures suspended, it is not a fix’d house,
It is round, it is only a few inches from one side to the other;
Yet behold, it has room for all the shows of the world, all memories?
Here the tableaus of life, and here the groupings of death;
Here, do you know this? this is cicerone himself,
With finger rais’d he points to the prodigal pictures.
I liked this poem, although it seems to relate to “brain”, I as well, associate with my camera, it too holds many memories for me, it is my greatest capture in a physical sense. as far as the one that spoke of “her”, it was just a mistake in not knowing. Thanks
he isnt a she retard. Sick poem keep it up Walt
I love all her poems they really inspire me to become a good person when i grow older, and to hopefully inspire others
the images i see when I read this short poem is that brain full of memories past and present…going everywhere and every place… I get the feeling of being aware of everything… happy and bad…. not judging…